Twelve Days of Fanfiction 2006
by The Yuggster
Summary: Twelve shorties, inspired by the Christmas carol “The Twelve Days of Christmas”. Ranging from angst to humor, and mostly featuring Legolas and Aragorn. Posting from December 13th to December 24th.
1. A Dwarf Stuck in a Tree

Title: Twelve Days of Fanfiction 06

Author: Yuggster

Disclaimer: _Lord of the Rings_ is the property of Tolkien Enterprises and New Line Cinema. The song "The Twelve Days of Christmas" isn't mine either...the original, that is.

Summary: Twelve shorties, inspired by the Christmas carol "The Twelve Days of Christmas". Ranging from angst to humor, and mostly featuring Legolas and Aragorn.

Author's Note: There are going to be twelve of these, starting now (December 13th) and running until Christmas Eve (December 24th). No offense is meant to those who don't celebrate Christmas...this was something an acquaintance of mine used to do every year (I think she probably still does, but she mostly writes fic for House and Stargate), and I just wanted to pick up the tradition. Anyway, there's no chronological connection between the stories here...just a numerical one.

_Don't worry, I haven't stopped working on _Fear No Darkness

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_A Dwarf Stuck in a Tree_

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"Get me down from here!" 

Aragorn shook his head, slowly approaching the blond-headed figure sprawled beneath a tree. "You did it again."

The elf opened one eye to regard the king, then sighed and relaxed a bit more into the grass. "He does it to himself, Aragorn. You know this."

"Blasted elf! Get me down!"

"And you know Gimli does not like to climb trees. Why do you keep making him do it?"

"Make him? I do not make him."

"Then why do the guards keep finding a dwarf stuck in a tree? It is not a natural place for dwarves, Legolas...tell me, what secret is your motivation?"

Legolas gave a snort of laughter. "It amazes me what a dwarf will do when accused of being a coward. Even going so far as to climb a tree which he cannot climb back down."

"Why do you taunt him?" Aragorn asked, lowering himself down to sit by his friend.

"He is such an easy target," Legolas gestured casually. "Besides, Strider, he taunted me first."

"Oh?"

"Yes." The elf settled a little more against the ground, resting his hands on his midriff. "He accused me of being afraid to go into his accursed cave."

"Were you?"

Legolas opened one eye again, quirking an eyebrow at the king. "It does not matter."

It was Aragorn's turn to snort in laughter. "Does not matter?"

"No. The point is; I did not get stuck in the cave, but now he is stuck in the tree."

"Help him down, Legolas."

Legolas stretched a bit. "Perhaps later."

Aragorn shook his head. "Now."

"Oh?" the elf propped himself up on his elbows to regard his friend. "And if I do not?"

"You do not wish to see me angry, Elfling."

"Elfling?" Legolas leaned his head back and laughed heartily, bringing a smile to Aragorn's face. "I have seen you angry...I have also seen my father angry and you, Aragorn, cannot compare."

"Perhaps not," Aragorn sighed, climbing to his feet. "But if I were you, I would help him now."

"Why?"

"Because if you do not I will...and word spreads quickly in this city, Legolas. What sorts of rumors would you like Gimli to spread about you?"

Legolas jumped to his feet as Aragorn reached up for one of the branches. "Now, Gimli!"

Aragorn glanced up, catching a full bucket of cold water in his face. He spluttered, blinking and shaking his head as Gimli plummeted out of the tree to land on the ground with a loud crash.

"And that is for letting me think kicking that blasted horse would make him slow down!"

The king coughed, wiping water out of his eyes. "Gimli?"

He heard Legolas laughing, and glanced up to see the elf helping the dwarf to his feet. "You should know by now, Strider...dwarves have long memories."

Aragorn leapt to his feet with a roar as his two friends took off down the path away from him. "So do men, Legolas! I will repay you for this!"

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_Happy Holidays!_


	2. Two Twin Elves

_AN: Due to the nature of this story I can't reply to individual reviews, but let me note something here. This story isn't going to be connected, it's a collection of short stories. Maybe next year when I have more time to plan I can do an actual connected story, but if you're really interested in what Aragorn might do to get back at Legolas and Gimli you'll just have to use your imagination._

_I should have warned you...a couple of these stories also feature one of my original characters—Belegdur._

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Two Twin Elves

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"Oh no."

Legolas glanced up at his brother, then out at the window overlooking the palace grounds. A handful of elves in the colors of Imladris were riding in, no doubt bearing a reply to his father's message. "Is something the matter?"

Belegdur gestured to the approaching party. "Can you not see? _They_ have come."

_They?_ Legolas took a second look, and his face split into a broad grin. "You mean Elladan and Elrohir?"

"Why Elrond should insist on sending _both_ of his twin sons is beyond me...surely one could carrying the message just as easily."

Legolas shook his head without replying, a smile playing about his lips. He figured the twins had come along to visit him as much as to deliver their father's message, but it was always amusing to listen to Belegdur assume both were coming simply to be an annoyance to him.

"I will never have a moment's peace with them here," Belegdur sighed dramatically, turning to give his brother a beseeching glance. "Twins...why did they have to be twins?"

Legolas nearly snorted, covering the gesture up by lowering his head to further study the scroll in front of him. Though, he had to admit, it was hard to pretend to be enthralled by a report on the amount firewood the nothernmost outpost had burned each night...perhaps they needed to assign a different elf to fill out the monthly reports. One who was less thorough.

"Do you know they used to find it endlessly amusing to tell me they were not two twins, but one elf and therefore I must be seeing double? Were I more gullible I might have been concerned."

Yes, Legolas had heard them try the same prank with different results. Of course, that had been that time they were being pursued by a madman...Elladan and Elrohir had tricked him into thinking himself insane and thus escaping.

"And they have the strangest knack for appearing just when it is most inopportune...like blundering into that trade meeting not one moment after I had finished assuring the paranoid traders from the Eastern borders of Long Lake that we were not being spied upon."

Of course, Legolas reflected, they also had a knack for appearing in the nick of time. Like when he and Aragorn had been captured and the orcs were trying to decide who to kill and who to drag back to their leader...Elladan and Elrohir had been quite timely then.

"And the way they each finish the other's sentence!" Belegdur nearly shouted. "One never knows how to carry on a conversation with them...you could begin talking to one and finish talking to the other."

"Belegdur," Legolas interrupted his brother's diatribe calmly. "If they bother you so much, I would be happy to entertain them and keep them away from you."

"They do not bother me," Belegdur protested. "I merely...they are unsettling."

Legolas grinned. "Truly, Belegdur, if you do not wish to face them I would be happy to keep them away from you."

"It is not that I do not wish to face them," Belegdur's voice raised slightly, unaware that his brother was baiting him. "It is merely...they are _twins_, Legolas."

"Yes, they are."

"They are _twins_...they have the habit of appearing in two places at once, you can never quite be sure which you are speaking to, and they take pleasure in keeping me as unsettled as possible."

"If you are afraid..."

"I am not afraid!" Belegdur nearly shouted again. "I am not afraid of Elladan and Elrohir...let me prove it to you!"

Without another word, Belegdur stalked from the room and down the hall. Legolas followed, fighting the rather un-princely urge to shove a fist in his mouth to stifle his laughter.

The twins were just entering the hall when Belegdur stalked up to greet them. The older prince was polite, if a bit harried-sounding, and managed to welcome them both to the halls of King Thranduil without confusing too many of his words in his haste to prove himself brave enough to face the "menace" of facing Elladan and Elrohir.

"Greetings, Belegdur," the twins said—turning as one and speaking as one. Legolas suddenly found the nearby tapestry very interesting—that is, he buried his face in the heavy fabric and let himself laugh heartily.

Elladan and Elrohir did not know Belegdur found them unsettling...and Belegdur did not know that the twins thought the same of him. And when the twins were unsettled by someone, they had the tendency to dress alike, speak alike, and generally do everything that usually unsettled Belegdur.

His father had been right...asking Lord Elrond to send both Elladan and Elrohir to Mirkwood would prove to be very amusing indeed.

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Happy Holidays!


	3. Three Hunters

_This one relies fairly heavily on the book version of The Two Towers—you might not understand the ending if you've never read the book. Also, it's not as much humor as the last two, but these all aren't going to be humor stories._

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Three Hunters

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_Wide wonder came into Éomer's eyes. "Strider is too poor a name, son of Arathorn," he said. "Wingfoot I name you. This deed of the three friends should be sung in many a hall. Forty leagues and five you have measured ere the fourth day is ended! Hardy is the race of Elendil!" (_The Two Towers_, page 31)_

"Well now...what tale would you like to hear today?"

The old man smiled as the children clamored for their favorite stories—legends, myths, folktales...bits of wisdom wrapped in the bright shell of narrative and doled out as precious treasure.

One serious-eyed girl caught his eye, and the storyteller beckoned her forward. "Tell us, Braewyn, what tale shall we hear today?"

Braewyn's eyes lit up as the storyteller singled her out. "Oh, please...tell us of the Three Hunters!"

The children around her clamored in agreement, some tugging on the old man's sleeves in their pleas. He laughed heartily, tousling one boy's flaxen hair. "You wish to hear of the three friends who dared journey across Rohan on foot?"

At the children's renewed chorus of agreement, the old man laughed again and settled back in his chair. "I have heard tell that they sprang out of the grass itself," he began, smiling as the children sat around him, many huddling together, eyes wide in anticipation and astonishment.

"Éomer, son of Éomund, now king of this fair land, was the first to have seen these three friends. He thought them elvish, perhaps...for they seemed to appear out of the air itself as though by magic. Indeed, there were many with him that day who thought them wraiths or servants of the enemy," the storyteller added with an oddly chagrined smile.

"But these three...now let me see," he scratched his gray head as though trying to remember a piece of the tale he knew as well as his own name. "Ah yes. Three there were...a dwarf, an elf, and a man. They had passed through the Golden Wood—oh, I know the name means nothing to you children now, but in the time before Éomer was king the Golden Wood was something to be feared.

"As for the three friends...Lord Éomer was amazed, for they had traveled well over forty leagues within four days, and on foot! Surely there was great elven magic at work here...but the man insisted that there was none. They were hardy folk, these three friends. A dwarf of the northern mountains, an elf of a besieged forest, and a doughty ranger of the wild. Lesser folk might have perished on such a quest, but these three persevered." For a moment, the storyteller was caught up in his tale and his eyes took on a faraway look. Then he shook himself, and returned to telling the story.

"They were in search of two halflings." The storyteller smiled as a murmur went up among the children. "Yes, halflings...in fact, Master Meriadoc, who is a good friend to the king, was one of these halflings. But the riders had seen no sign of such creatures, and had in fact only seen a party of ugly Uruk-Hai who dared venture into Rohan.

"The Uruk-Hai...I do not have to tell you the dangers those beasts presented. Despite Éomer's words that the Uruk-Hai and all with them had perished, the three hunters insisted on following the trail to the battle site. And thus, in one of the most generous gestures known to our people, Lord Éomer lent two horses to these three friends."

One of the girls made a little delighted gasp, wriggling in anticipation. The storyteller paused, sending a wink her way. "You have heard tell of Arod, I assume," he began, breaking off into one of his favorite tangents of the tale. "He alone of his generation was blessed to be ridden by an elf—indeed, many say he was the cause of the current peace between elves and dwarves. But he was, after all, only a horse...albeit a horse of the Rohirrim.

"Where was I...ah, of course. The three friends continued on the trail of the Uruk-Hai, hoping beyond hope to find the halflings. And what do you think they found there?"

The children broke into an excited murmur, each of them knowing this tale almost as well as the old man. "They found signs that the halflings had not perished, but had been rescued by a strange creature."

"Who rescued them?" one little boy asked.

"That is another tale," the storyteller replied with a good-natured scold in his voice. "You have not asked for the tale of the Tree-Herders, but that of the Three Hunters! And yet...as this is where their tale ends, perhaps..."

The clamoring of the children brought another laugh to the old man. "Very well. The tale is not yet over...for do you know what happened next?"

Many did, it appeared, but he could not discern one single answer out of the chaos that met his inquiry. "You have heard of King Théoden...he who rode to the aide of Gondor and gave his life on the battlefield? I have heard tell that it was these three friends, along with the wizard Gandalf, who freed Théoden from his enchantment."

"Tell us that story!" the little boy pleaded. "If you will not tell us of the Tree-Herders, tell us of King Théoden's enchantment!"

"That is another tale," the storyteller held up one hand. "Or do you wish me leave off this one without a finish?"

Another chorus met his ears, this one of protests, and he chuckled as many of the little boy's companions clamored at him to be silent and ask for no other tales. "I will tell these other tales in time...but there is yet a little more. For they come into many of our tales as well—the tales of the Tree-Herders, of King Théoden's last days, of the beginning of King Éomer's reign, but especially the battle at Helm's Deep.

"For these three returned to Edoras when they realized the halflings were beyond their reach. They returned and aided our king in leading his people into battle against Saruman—many say that we would have been defeated at Helm's Deep were it not for these three friends who sprang from the grass like magic to amaze a band of horsemen."

The storyteller was silent for a moment, his eyes distant with reflection.

"The rest of the tale you know," he said suddenly, rising to his feet. "Forgive me, children, but I must leave off this tale. I will return," he replied to their pleas. "And perhaps I will tell another tale...but for now I must take my leave of you."

He smiled at the children's sighs and groans, tousled a few more heads of hair, and carefully made his way out of the hall into the bright sunlight.

The soft whicker of a horse greeted him, and he raised a hand against the sun's glare to welcome the approaching rider. "You are distinguishable from quite a distance, my friend."

The lithe blond being dismounted, clasping the old man's hand in a warm greeting. "Is Gimli here yet?"

"No, Lord Gimli has not arrived," the old man shook his head. "And the rest of your party?"

The elf chuckled. "I am afraid Lord Aragorn travels with a few more guards than in days gone by."

"Of course," the storyteller agreed, joining Legolas in his laughter. "T'would be remiss indeed for the palace guard to allow the king to ride to Rohan unguarded...tell me, how did you manage to reach the Golden Hall without your own contingent?"

A flash of amusement flickered across the eternally-young features. "I would be remiss indeed if I could not escape a handful of guards."

The storyteller shook his head, glancing behind him with a smile to see Braewyn peeking out of the hall. "You missed another story. They asked for the tale of the Three Hunters."

"Did they?" Legolas smiled. "And did you remember the part about the foolish rider who questioned Éomer's judgement in aiding such scoundrels?"

The storyteller shook his head. "He was a fool."

"Aye, perhaps then," Legolas clasped the old rider's arm again. "But now he is not...come, Éothain. Lord Aragorn's party is approaching, and I believe we should give him a proper welcome."

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_Happy Holidays!_


	4. Four Hobbits Bold

_This is another that relies heavily on the book-world. Nothing severely important, just bear in mind that Bilbo did travel on to Lonely Mountain after he left the Shire and therefore it is not entirely impossible that he stopped over in Mirkwood._

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Four Hobbits Bold

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"Hobbits!" 

"Yes, hobbits."

Legolas shook his head. "I never...you cannot be serious, Aragorn."

The ranger leaned back, resting his head against his intertwined fingers. "I would not have believed it myself, had Gandalf not asked me to meet them at the inn."

"Gandalf! Yes, I knew he was rather taken with the land of the halflings...but to send four hobbits alone to Rivendell?"

"They were not alone. I was with them, from Bree onward. But yes, from Bree to Rivendell is quite the distance for short-legged folk. Yet they kept up with me all the same."

"Are you sure they were not well-shaved dwarves?"

"Legolas!" Aragorn snorted at the idea. "I would hope I should know the difference between a hobbit and a dwarf who'd cut off his beard. Nay, these were merely hobbits. Doughty ones, too, you know. I trust you have heard tell of Weathertop?"

"I thought Glorfindel was exaggerating," Legolas shook his head. "Four hobbits? You brought four hobbits from Bree all the way to Rivendell, and never lost a single one?"

"I tell you, there is something special about the four of them. I would not be surprised—stay, that is a conversation for another day," Aragorn interrupted his own thought, thinking of his foster-father's plan for the upcoming council.

"Hobbits," Legolas shook his head again with a sigh, disbelief still written across his fair features. "And here we thought Bilbo was an exception among his kin."

Aragorn leaned forward. "You know Bilbo?"

"He is known to my father. Apparently he was a guest of the wood-elves the time we imprisoned those dwarves," Legolas had the grace to look chagrined at the old mistake. "He visited us not too long ago, you know. Reminded my father every chance he had of the time a burglar sneaked through the castle under the Elvenking's very nose and stole from his larders.

"But four hobbits? Now I suppose we were mistaken all along, and every hobbit in the Shire is a true-hearted warrior. Tell me, do the rangers patrol the Shire for the hobbits' protection, or is it the hobbits who protect the rangers?"

"Peace, Legolas," Aragorn held a hand up, biting back his laughter. "Truly, I swear to you, there are no more hobbits journeying this way from the Shire."

"Soon we shall be overrun," Legolas continued as though he had not heard his friend. "I must make sure that my father builds a very tall wall around the forest."

"Yes, to keep you in it!" The elf-prince blushed furiously as Gandalf peeked his head into the room. "I daresay he could use such a device to keep you out of trouble."

"Even that would not work, Gandalf," Aragorn countered. "Legolas is one who can find trouble anywhere...you would only be trapping trouble in the forest with him."

The wizard grunted in agreement. "Then perhaps you should be bundled off to the land of the hobbits, Master Elf. There would be nothing there to harm you, and the rest of us could have a few centuries of peace without wondering what trouble Thranduil's youngest son will find himself in!"

Legolas' deepening blush proved the wizard had won this battle of words, and within a moment the aged man had disappeared again. "Hobbits."

Aragorn caught his friend's muttered comment. "Perhaps you should speak to them yourself. These four...there is something surprising to them."

The elf snorted. "The day I choose to learn more about hobbits is the day I decide to befriend a dwarf," he commented in a dry voice.

He missed the flicker in his friend's eye that said Aragorn knew or guessed more about the future of these hobbits. "You should be careful what you say, Legolas. One can never tell—perhaps these four hobbits will prove the salvation of us all."

Legolas' smile was a bit rueful this time, but he just sighed and leaned his head back, his voice fading to a whisper that none but him could hear. "And perhaps one ranger just might be king."

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_Happy Holidays!_


	5. Five Precious Years

_Five Precious Years_

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Early morning sunlight filtered into the courtyard as Belegdur stepped out of the palace for a bit of fresh air. He sighed in contentment—he had been up the entire night finishing a trade proposal for one of his father's councilors and was looking forward to taking a bit of rest after breakfast.

He did not know why his father's councilors always came to him for help. His older brother, Crown Prince Aranion, was a much more personable elf and had a few more centuries' experience at court...though after a few thousands years that was not such a difference.

He sighed, pausing at the top of the steps to stretch. A figure off to his right caught his eye, and he turned to see his younger brother, Legolas, leaning motionless against the wall to the palace.

"Legolas?" Belegdur walked over to his brother, stopping in front of him and studying him closely. "Are you all right?"

Truth was, many in the palace were worried about the youngest prince. He had returned from one of his frequent tricks with that human he had insisted on befriending—Lord Elrond's foster-son—but had been in a rather disquieted mood ever since. Legolas usually managed to be fairly cheerful, but now...

"I am fine."

Long years of practice kept Belegdur from openly scoffing at his brother's words. "You are not fine," he finally said.

"You would not care if I told you."

The younger elf's bitter words shocked Belegdur, and he was ashamed to admit that all too often Legolas would be correct. "Tell me."

Legolas sighed, slumping further against the wall. Belegdur forced back the urge to tell his brother to stand up straight, and simply waited. "It is Estel."

"Estel?" Belegdur raised his eyebrows in surprise. "That human?"

"Lord Elrond's foster-son," Legolas retorted, though his tone was less sharp than it should have been for such a response. "You know he is a ranger now."

"I had heard," Belegdur replied, shifting his weight and crossing his arms, a worried frown forming between his eyes. "Did he say something to you?"

"No," Legolas shook his head, grief catching in his throat. "He is...he is gone."

Belegdur closed his eyes. "I am sorry. I had not heard...when did it happen?"

"Happen?" the younger elf looked up in confusion. His eyes widened, and he shook his head again. "No, he is not dead, Belegdur. He is simply gone." Legolas gestured vaguely toward the south, waving his hand as though that gesture could convey his full meaning.

"I do not understand," Belegdur finally admitted. "What do you mean?"

Legolas sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with one hand. "He has gone south," he finally explained. "South to Gondor and Rohan, to learn more about the world of men."

"Ah," Belegdur finally understood some part of his brother's distress. Truly, at one time he had thought it unhealthy the way the younger elf clung to the mortal's friendship, but he had also seen the great impact this Estel had made on Legolas. "And you miss him."

"It is not that," Legolas raised his head, his eyes distant. "He goes into a world I cannot understand. When he returns, he will no longer be the man I befriended."

"What are you talking about?" Belegdur nearly laughed. "Of course he will still be your friend."

"No," Legolas disagreed sadly. "He will grow older, Belegdur. I doubt he will want to have anything to do with me."

"Older? Legolas, you are nearly five hundred years old...how much are you expecting this human to age?"

"I am a child among my own people, as you so often remind me," the younger prince exploded in a rare show of temper. "But for a time Estel and I were alike...for these past five years I have ridden out with him knowing he relied on me as much as I relied on him, and that time is past now! When he returns he will be wise in the ways of men, and I will still be the elfling I was when he left! Do you truly believe he will want anything to do with me?"

Belegdur was silent for a moment, trying to understand what his brother was saying. "You assume this ranger will think himself above you if he returns?"

"How could he not?" Legolas leaned back against the wall, rubbing a hand over his face wearily. "You know how quickly men age...no doubt he will see me as the same foolish child you see."

"Ah," Belegdur almost smiled. "You think he will outgrow your friendship."

"What use would I be to him?" Legolas replied, his voice quieting.

"And what of these last five years?" the older elf asked. "You and he have traveled much together...will that mean nothing to him?"

"I do not know."

Belegdur sighed. "What has this time meant to you?"

A brief smile flickered over Legolas' face. "You know I had not ventured out of the forest on my own much," he began to explain. "These last five years...traveling with Aragorn has taught me so much about the world beyond the forest, but what good will that be when he returns? I know the journeys from here to Rivendell and Lothlórien...that will not help him."

The older elf frowned in confusion. "What do you mean? Legolas, who is Aragorn?"

Legolas blanched, eyes widening. "Belegdur...I did not...what have I done?"

"Aragorn...Legolas, is Estel's name really Aragorn?"

The younger elf groaned, burying his face in one hand. "You must tell no one of this," he finally managed to say, guilt-filled eyes raising to meet his brother's gaze. "Ada is the only one who knows...now is not the time."

Still confused, Belegdur nodded. "And this journey south?"

Legolas sighed, his features defeated. "He is destined...I have sworn to say nothing more about it. But he goes to learn more of his destiny."

Belegdur gently placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Do not discount yourself so readily, Legolas. Do you truly believe he would discard your friendship simply because he has seen more of the world than you?"

The younger elf nodded miserably. "I am not saying he would forget me, but things could never be the same again."

"Of course not," Belegdur agreed. "However...Legolas, please consider that this man, mortal though he be, is your friend. Might that not be enough?"

Legolas let his head fall again. "I do not know."

Belegdur slid closer, resting his arm across his brother's shoulders. "You will not know until he returns. But until then, consider these five years you have spent traipsing about the wilds precious." He grinned as his brother rolled his eyes—Belegdur had scolded Legolas more than once about shirking his duties to traipse recklessly through the wilds. "And if, when this Aragorn or Estel or whichever name he goes by returns, he does not still treasure your friendship then I say he was not worth it in the first place."

The younger prince started, a defense flying to his lips.

"If it is not true then trust your friend," Belegdur replied. "Do not doubt him so easily without proof...it may be that your friendship will be stronger than ever when he does return. Though I doubt that may be a good thing," he added wryly, please when Legolas managed a smile.

"Now stand up straight!" Belegdur scolded good-naturedly. "And do not be late for breakfast...Adar will skin you if you keep missing meals."

Legolas shook his head, another smile creeping onto his face. "Thank you."

Belegdur smiled, and in an uncommon gesture of affection wrapped one arm around his brother's shoulders as they walked back to the door of the palace. He thanked the Valar for the last five years...for the brightness and confidence they had wrought in his brother.

He hoped there would be many more such years to come.

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Happy Holidays!


	6. Six Days of Silence

_Six Days of Silence_

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Aragorn squeezed out the cloth he held, listening idly to the water splashing back into the bucket, then leaned over lay the cold, damp fabric over his friend's fevered brow. 

"Why did you not tell me you were ill," he murmured, though the other man was unconscious and beyond hearing. "I would have come...it would not have gotten this far."

An impatient knock at the door startled him out of his thoughts, and he left Faramir's bedside and crossed the room. "Who is it?"

"Legolas...I bear a message from Lady Éowyn."

The king sighed and opened the door enough to let the elf through. He had no doubt that Éowyn was angry with him—he had forced the woman away from her husband's side, fearing for the unborn child she carried. Much as he knew she wanted to nurse Faramir through this illness, it would have been a terrible blow to them both had she been stricken and lost the child in her sickness.

"What does she ask now?"

"Ask?" the elf raised his eyebrows with the barest of smiles. "She wanted you to know that she is leaving for Edoras in the morning. Against her wishes, of course."

"Of course." Aragorn shook his head, returning to his chair by the bed.

Legolas hesitated, then knelt on the floor near Faramir's feet, studying his ill friend with concern heavy in his eyes. "I have never seen an illness like this."

"I have," the king replied, his voice steady. "It is not normally this severe, and had Faramir seen the healers when he first fell ill he would be well by now. But..."

"He is as stubborn as you?"

Aragorn snorted. "Or you." He watched the sleeping man for another moment, wiping a line of water away where the cold cloth had been running.

"How long has he been like this?" Legolas asked.

"Two days now," the king replied, his voice tight with worry and fatigue. "He has woken a few times, just long enough to swallow some broth, but that is all. And when he is awake he is not aware of where he is...he has not spoken since I arrived."

Legolas sighed, reaching up to take Faramir's hand as Aragorn removed the cloth and dunked it in the bucket of water again, wringing it out before placing it back on the steward's brow.

The king moaned wearily, bending over to rest his elbows on his knees and rub his face with both hands. "You should rest," Legolas commented. "You will do him no good if you fall ill yourself."

Aragorn started to protest, but Legolas was already pulling him to his feet. "I will wake you if he shows any changes...you must rest, Aragorn."

He protested again, half-heartedly, but by that time the elf had already half-carried him across the room and pushed him down on a low couch. "Just sleep. I will call you if he wakes."

Aragorn swatted at his friend as Legolas tugged a blanket over him, and fought to keep his eyes open. It was no good...he lifted his head just long enough to watch Legolas sink into the chair beside Faramir's bed and take up vigil over the sick human, and then he slipped into sleep.

The next few days passed in a sort of vague routine. Legolas would occasionally leave the room to carry messages or fetch supplies, but mostly he helped Aragorn care for the steward. In moments when Faramir struggled to consciousness, Aragorn fed him broth or medicine yet still the steward did not speak.

Legolas had to herd Aragorn to rest nearly every night, and every night the king would fall asleep to the sound of the elf singing or just speaking to his ill friend.

On the sixth day, Aragorn nearly yelped in shock when Faramir recoiled from the cold compress. He threw the rag aside and pressed his hand to the steward's brow, calling for Legolas when he found Faramir's fever had broken.

Bleary eyes cracked open, recognition flickering in their gray depths for the first time in six days.

"Your fever has broken," Aragorn explained, gripping the steward's hand tightly. "You have been very sick for many days now."

Faramir licked his lips, managing to rasp a single, mangled word. Aragorn smiled, not so much at his friend's question but at hearing his voice, rough though it was, again. "Éowyn should be safe in Rohan now."

"We have been worried," Legolas added, gingerly perching on the side of the bed.

The steward managed a weak smile, head sinking into the pillow with exhaustion. Aragorn gently patted his friend's hand. "Rest now...we can talk when you have regained some strength."

Faramir's eyes slid closed, and his breathing soon evened out into a deep, regular rhythm so unlike the shallow rasping of the last six days. Legolas rested one hand against his friend's chest, shooting a smile to Aragorn.

"You were worried," the king commented. "I told you he would recover."

Legolas shook his head, standing up and stretching. "Six days...I do believe these last six days have been longer than the last six hundred years."

Aragorn snorted, tucking the blanket around Faramir and pressing a hand to his brow one final time. "You have not even seen six hundred years yet, Legolas."

For once, the elf did not rise to the bait. "I have never even seen you this ill," he explained. "I thought..."

"Yes, I have been fortunate," Aragorn agreed. "But do not worry. Now that his fever is past Faramir will recover quickly."

Now that the steward was out of danger, Aragorn made his way to the door intent on finding some well-earned rest in an actual bed rather than a fairly lumpy couch, but he hesitated when he saw Legolas sit back down in the chair beside Faramir's bed. "Is something wrong?"

Legolas glanced up. "What? Oh, no, I merely...I do not wish him to be alone when he wakes."

Aragorn smiled. "That may not be for several hours."

He nearly laughed when one of his friend's eyebrows shot up. "I am an elf, Strider. We are nothing if not patient."

"Of course," the king shook his head, closing the door behind him. He paused for a moment, leaning back against the door with a smile.

Legolas, it seemed, had adopted another mortal. He would have to warn Faramir later...the steward might not know what he was getting into.

_

* * *

_

Happy Holidays!


	7. Seven Leagues to Safety

_I'm posting today's story this morning rather than tonight because I'm going out of town right after work. I'll be back in time for tomorrow night's post, though._

* * *

_Seven Leagues to Safety_

* * *

Legolas bent low over Simoliké's neck, softly urging the horse on. Seven leagues...they were only seven leagues from the valley, seven leagues from the help his friend so desperately needed. 

Aragorn moaned and Legolas gripped his friend tighter, anxiety freezing his heart.

It was supposed to be a simple mission...how was he to know the villagers would attack the ranger as soon as the elf's back was turned? Legolas cursed his own inattention, wishing the villagers had been less in awe of his presence. They had treated the elf as though he were some higher being, some ancient king, then they had cowardly attacked Aragorn and wounded him simply because the ranger was reluctant to kill his own kind.

They had scattered when Legolas reappeared...and in a dark corner of his heart he wished they had not. He wished he could have done something to avenge his friend.

Simoliké nearly stumbled, and Legolas called out to his mount. The horse slowed a pace, picking his way carefully over the rocky ground.

Six leagues to Imladris. Only after he had carried his friend out of town had Legolas discovered the poisoned knife wound in Aragorn's side. The human was barely conscious, singing out half-forgotten fragments of poetry in his delirium.

That had been disturbing...but now Legolas preferred his friend's delirious ramblings to the awful silence. Aragorn's fever had risen, then his temperature suddenly dropped and it was all Legolas could do to keep his friend warm.

Aragorn shivered, and Legolas tried to pull the ranger closer against him, making sure he was wrapped up as warmly as the elf could manage.

Five leagues. He knew that they would be teased unmercifully for this once Aragorn recovered, but he did not care. In fact, he would have been happy to see an entire contingent of elves riding out to meet them courtesy of Elrond or one of his sons' over-protective natures, provided said elves were carrying healing supplies.

That had been the cruelest blow. The villagers had stolen almost everything Aragorn was carrying, even down to basic bandages and his spare tunic. Legolas had his own stock of bandages—nearly every being he knew made sure of that!—but he had nothing like Aragorn's careful supply of herbs and medicines.

He grimaced as a sudden gust of wind caught his hood, throwing it back and exposing his head to the cold autumn rain. He did not stop to adjust it, hunching lower over Aragorn in hopes that his friend was shielded from the rain.

Four leagues to the valley. His frenzied rush to get his friend back home to safety was beginning to wear a toll. Legolas grimaced as his ribs throbbed, the nearly-faded bruises from his latest encounter with the foul beasts of the mountains bringing an unpleasant new ache.

The High Pass was no longer clear...he had lost one member of his guard trying to cross. Indeed, Lord Elrond had only decreed Legolas well enough to get out of bed two days ago, and had only agreed that he could accompany Aragorn on this simple mission because it was supposed to be something easy and safe.

Easy? Perhaps. But safe? Not at all.

He supposed he should feel grateful that he had seen none of the humans' anger, yet that was little and cold comfort. Many times he preferred it when he was the target of the hatred of men rather than Aragorn. He felt so useless when Aragorn was injured...so unsure of how to aid his friend.

Legolas let out a short, bitter laugh, his voice snatched away by the wind. He would have felt useless either way; when he was injured he usually felt like a burden. At least this time he was doing something...he had been fully conscious, though unable to stand, when his guard carried him through the High Pass to the house of Lord Elrond.

His head dropped in fatigue, but he shook himself and focused on the road. They were three leagues from Imladris now, approaching the rocky terrain that would lead to the valley.

With a snort, he wondered if someone had bet on their return this time. Lord Elrond had been furious to discover that a certain betting pool seemed to be going around Imladris concerning when Aragorn and Legolas would return, and which of them would be injured.

Not that they always returned injured. It was just...he would never admit it but Aragorn did have a tendency to go looking for trouble. Else how could he explain that nearly every journey with Aragorn eventually involved orcs, while he rarely ran across them when he journeyed alone?

Of course, Aragorn did often comment that Legolas had the bizarre ability to attract every spider in Mirkwood just by stepping out of the palace. He grinned for a moment, wondering if somehow he _did_ attract spiders just as Aragorn attracted orcs.

Aragorn moaned again, shivering as the cold seeped through his cloak. Legolas sighed, wishing he could do more to keep his friend warm. They were nearly home, but battles had been lost closer to safety.

Two leagues to Imladris. The rain was lifting and Legolas shook his head, scattering water droplets that had been trapped in his long hair. He was beginning to feel the chill—no doubt he had not regained his full strength since his injury—but he hoped the parting rain would give way to the sun.

The road was growing more treacherous. He was weary, and Simoliké was struggling to keep the pace. Legolas let his head fall forward to rest against Aragorn, sighing deeply.

Then, just over one league from home, the unthinkable happened.

He had trusted Simoliké to keep his footing, so he had not been paying much attention when the horse stumbled. Something felt wrong this time, though, but before Legolas could do anything he found himself thrown from his horse.

Legolas met the ground with a sharp crack, pain flaring through his left arm. For a few moments he lay stunned, fighting to breath around the agony that encircled his forearm. He could tell by the pain that he'd broken a bone, and he finally managed to roll over and sit up, cradling the injured limb in his lap.

Aragorn lay within arm's reach, his face barely out of the mud. A few feet away, Simoliké was rolling onto his side, panting and heaving. Legolas crawled over to his horse, laying his uninjured hand on the powerful neck and looking over his horse. Simoliké whickered softly, nudging the elf's leg with his head.

"What happened?" Legolas asked, lifting his gaze to study the road. The tracks were odd, and his eyes widened as he realized what his horse had done.

It looked as though Simoliké had fallen, and at the last possible moment had thrown his riders clear rather than risk crushing them in the fall. Legolas dropped his head to rest against Simoliké's, cursing his inattentiveness. If he had been paying attention he could have possibly kept the horse on his feet, or at least leapt from his back.

"I hope you did not pay for my error," he murmured.

The horse nudged his leg again, and Legolas leaned away to watch Simoliké struggle to his feet. He faltered, but managed to stand though the elf could tell he was favoring his hind leg.

Legolas forced himself to stand, cradling his broken arm close, and sighed. He would not risk Simoliké further by making him carry both elf and ranger. They were only a few miles from Rivendell...he would just have to carry Aragorn the rest of the way.

He knelt down and managed to heave the ranger onto his shoulders, staggering and slipping a bit in the mud as he stood. Simoliké whickered again, nudging him and generally looking as displeased as a mud-spattered horse could look.

Legolas shook his head. "Go ahead of me. When they see you approaching riderless, no doubt the patrols will investigate. You can lead them back to us."

Obviously displeased, the horse limped a few steps ahead and stopped to look back at the elf. "I will be fine," Legolas called. "Go on ahead." Simoliké snorted, shaking his mane to free some of the mud that still clung to the rough hairs, and slowly continued toward Imladris.

The elf sighed, carefully balancing the weight on his shoulders as he picked his way through the mud. He kept a grip on Aragorn's shoulders with his good arm, wincing every time the man's legs bumped against his broken arm.

Head down, he focused on his steps as he trudged through the mud toward Rivendell. The muddy pathway turned to the hardened earth of a well-trod road, and he lifted his head as he heard hoofbeats approaching.

He had just reached the entrance to the valley when the guards found him. Relief flooded his body, and he did not resist as one guard took Aragorn from him, lifting the human before him on his horse and riding for the house of Lord Elrond.

He barely noticed when he was half-lifted onto the back of a horse, one of the guards mounting behind him and wrapping an arm around his chest to steady him.

They had made it. They were home.

* * *

_Happy Holidays!_


	8. Eight Drunkards Brawling

_Eight Drunkards Brawling_

* * *

"...the road to the north should be fairly clear," Aragorn explained, tracing an imaginary route on the tabletop. He grinned as the elf flinched visibly as yet another tottering drunk slammed into the back of his chair, but quickly refocused on the ranger. 

"When have you ever sought to avoid danger?" Legolas asked, nearly tumbling onto the table when his chair was violently shook as the brawling men behind him again lost their balance.

"If you must know," Aragorn paused, neatly leaning out of the way as one drunkard threw another into the wall, "I am under strict orders from your father to get you home without a scratch on you."

Legolas shook his head. "He should know better than to order such things."

The ranger snorted in agreement, jumping back as someone suddenly upended a tankard of ale over his friend's head.

"Sorry! Accident!"

Dripping with ale, Legolas shot the drunk a disgusted look and shook out his arms. "Of course it was."

"Hey! That was my ale!" another man suddenly shouted, grabbing the first by the arm.

"You wasn't drinking it!"

"I might have!"

"Anyway, he ran into me," the first argued, pointing at Legolas.

Legolas raised his eyebrows incredulously. "I beg your pardon?"

"Yeah! That's right!" either the second drunk was incredibly stupid, gullible, or had some sort of death wish. "I saw 'im. He stood right up and knocked you over."

"You know," Aragorn interrupted, idly pushing his chair aside. "The two of you are terribly clear-headed for a couple of drunks."

The two men stared at each other, then with a war cry rushed the friends. Legolas easily flipped the first over onto the table, knocking the wind out of him and sending him crashing to the floor. Aragorn side-stepped the second and slammed him into the wall, jerking him back by his tunic to shove him into a nearby chair.

"Now, if you had wanted our attention you could have merely spoken to us," he commented dryly, tipping the chair over and resting his foot against the man's chest.

Legolas grunted behind him, and Aragorn turned enough to watch the elf trip up a third man and send him sprawling to meet the first. "I believe we have overstayed our welcome, Strider."

"Of course we have," the ranger muttered, stepping back to let the second man up.

The second man wiped his bloody nose on his sleeve and charged at Aragorn again. The ranger met the attack by dropping to a crouch and sweeping the legs out from under his assailant, sending him falling into a fourth man who had run up to help.

A fifth grabbed Legolas, quickly learning that the elf was not so easy to subdue as the blond being simply twisted and slipping out of the hold to drive an elbow deep into the man's gut. The elf then shifted his weight and kicked the third man in the chest, hauling the first around by his tunic and throwing him toward Aragorn.

Aragorn was holding his own against four assailants—the sixth and seventh having rushed him as soon as they saw their comrades go down. He grabbed the first by one arm and slung him toward the other four, sending them scattering like tenpins. "Seven men? Is that the best you can do?"

"Eight," Legolas piped in, kicking and struggling as one massive man had a hold of him from behind, pinning the elf's arms to his side and lifting him off his feet.

"Ah. And that is why you should always fight with the wall toward your back, Legolas," Aragorn could not resist commenting as he levered a chair at one of the men—he had lost track of who was who by this time—and sent another reeling with a blow to the head.

Legolas slammed his head back, bashing the giant in the bridge of his nose and causing him to lose his grip on the elf. Aragorn yelled a warning and flung an empty tankard at a man who was trying to trip the elf up.

"What a fine establishment," Legolas commented in a wry tone as he stepped out of another attack and drove a knee into the man's gut, finishing it with a sharp blow to the back of his neck. "Quite charming."

"It usually is," the ranger replied, easily flipping another man over his shoulder as the man tried to run at him, the momentum sending the man crashing to the floor. "Though what is a tavern without a good brawl?"

He could not see the elf's face as his friend was currently trying to duck another bone-crushing hug from the giant, but he could imagine the incredulous expression on his face. "Oh, yes...you always find such exciting places, Strider."

Aragorn laughed, grabbing one man by the tunic and slamming his head into another man's, knocking them both unconscious.

"Well," Aragorn paused, dropping to slam his shoulder into the giant's knees as Legolas threw his shoulder against his chest. "I suppose you would prefer someplace with a bit less entertainment?"

"Naturally," the elf's reply was wry as he surveyed the eight unconscious or semi-conscious men sprawled about the tavern floor. "I suppose we owe the barkeep something for the trouble."

Aragorn hauled one man up by the tunic, frowning down at him. "Actually, I think this is the barkeep."

"I see." Legolas glanced up at the bar, shaking his head.

"Well, it is not as if we came in here looking for trouble," Aragorn protested, slapping a few coins onto the bar as he and the elf made their way out.

"Yes, but trouble found us."

"_You_. Trouble found you."

"You started the brawl," Legolas protested.

"They attacked us at the same time!"

"Yes, but you goaded them into it."

"They were going to attack you anyway. I let myself be pulled in to help you."

"Oh, I see," the elf rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "I will tell you one thing, Strider; it will be many years before I visit another tavern with you."

The ranger grinned slyly. "What about an inn? I hear the Boar's Head is particularly nice this time of year."

"The Boar's Head?" Legolas' brow wrinkled in confusion and disgust at the strange name. He could not understand the human tendency to frequent places with such bizzare names.

"Oh, it is a wonderful inn a few days out from Bree. Trust me, Legolas. If you thought the tavern was entertaining, wait until you see the Boar's Head!"

"Of course. I cannot wait," the elf replied dryly.

But surely even a place named the Boar's Head would be more civilized than this tavern...what possible trouble could they get into in an inn?

* * *

_Happy Holidays!_

_Note: the Boar's Head was the inn in_ Bad Company_. It's not named in that story, but that's what the inn is called in the sequel (which hasn't been posted yet—though you can find a preview on my homepage under "Previews"). Anyway, that last part kind of ties into _Bad Company_, so that's why that part's in there, if you were wondering._


	9. Nine Orcs A Squabbling

_Nine Orcs A-Squabbling_

* * *

"Well...any bright ideas this time?" 

"Quiet! Let me think."

"Oh, by all means, take your time. I will just enjoy getting to know our nice new friends."

"Legolas."

"You said there was nothing to worry about. You said we could cut through Dunland without fear."

"I also said you should not have accompanied me."

"Oh, and things would have gone so much better if you had been alone."

"Yes."

"The orcs would have gone hungry."

"Legolas!"

"At least now they will get a full meal with two of us."

"I will not warn you again."

"Which do you suppose they will want to roast first?"

"That is enough."

"Ah, you are right. They will probably eat us raw."

"Legolas!" Aragorn slammed his shoulder against his friend, nearly knocking the elf over. "If you will be quiet for one moment?"

The elf snorted, retreating into silence. He drew his knees up, resting his bound wrists across them, and leaned back against his friend. "Forgive me."

Aragorn grunted, his attention elsewhere as he focused on the party of orcs currently trying to light a fire. "Two tribes?"

"What?" Legolas half-turned at the ranger's muttered question.

"I believe we have two tribes here."

Legolas shook his head, turning back to lean against Aragorn. "So the orcs are allying with each other."

"No, this could help us," the ranger replied. "Alliances are rare and unstable...if we could get them to fight amongst themselves we should be able to sneak away."

Aragorn studied the orcs for a few moments longer, then shook his head in confusion. "What did you say?"

"I have not said anything for quite some time."

"You asked my forgiveness."

Legolas sighed. "I do not like being held prisoner by these creatures."

"Ah." Aragorn nodded. Neither of them liked being held prisoner...but while Aragorn usually grew a bit sullen and withdrawn, Legolas had a tendency to talk a bit much. "I have an idea."

He ignored the elf's groan. "Hey!" he shouted, drawing the attention of one orc. "I thought you were going to get us some water!"

The orc stalked over with a growl, his ugly face twisted into a sneer of disgust. "No." He cackled at his own joke, then kicked Aragorn's legs.

"Oh, my mistake," the ranger said pleasantly. "That was him." He pointed his bound hands at another orc.

"He did, did he?" the orc roared, loping back toward the fire. Aragorn watched with a flicker of amusement as the two orcs began to argue, and were pulled apart. One pointed accusingly toward Aragorn, and the man smiled and nodded cheerfully as all attention was turned toward him.

"Why do I let you do these things?" Legolas groaned, trying to scoot away from his friend only to be snatched back up and deposited next to the ranger as the orcs came thundering up.

"What's this about water?" one grumbled.

"He said we could have water," Aragorn replied, pointing at another orc.

"Hey! You said it was him!" one argued, cuffing another on the back of the head.

"My mistake. It was him," the ranger nodded.

"Well you ain't getting none!" one orc crowed.

"But he said we could have some," Aragorn said, his voice nearly whining as he pointed to a different orc.

"No, you said it was me," the one he'd originally accused shouted.

"So it was you?" two orcs turned on him, berating him for promising such a "luxury" to the prisoner.

"'Ere now," another orc leapt into the fray, "lay off him!"

"You lay off!"

Aragorn bit back his laugh as the orcs began arguing among themselves. Some were standing on the sides, watching with confused expression, but about nine were arguing loudly about whether or not someone had promised to give the prisoners water.

"If I can just," he grunted, fumbling with his boot. "They never found the knife in my—" he cut himself off, pulling out the knife with a triumphant expression. "Lean over here."

Legolas leaned closer, watching the orcs with a guarded expression. "What did you do?"

"Two tribes of orcs, remember? Each thinks the other was too soft on the prisoners."

The elf shook his head, flexing his hands as the bonds fell free. "How long do you think they will be distracted?" he asked as he sawed through Aragorn's ropes.

"Long enough for us to escape," the ranger replied as both stood carefully, edging away from the squabbling orcs.

"Oy!" one shouted, suddenly noticing the prisoners' escape. "Who let you go?"

Aragorn grinned cheekily, unable to resist one parting jab. "Why, he did, of course."

The ranger turned to flee, following close on the heels of his elven friend, the racket of squabbling orcs filling the air behind them.

"You will get us killed some day," Legolas commented, dragging his friend into the brush and ducking down as the orcs thundered past, yammering out war cries and still arguing even as they sought to pursue the escaped prisoners.

"Perhaps," the ranger agreed with another grin. "But not today."

* * *

_Happy Holidays!_


	10. Ten Dwarves Mining

_Ten Dwarves Mining_

* * *

Harsh orders were barked as the lamps were re-lit, miners and workers dimly surveying the cave-in.

"The passage is entirely blocked," one dwarf called. "It could take days to tunnel through...if you are sure he is even still alive?"

Gimli, son of Glóin, rose to his full height and glowered at the other dwarf. "I have seen the lad survive much worse than a mere cave-in...he is alive, and you will not take days to reach him!"

The dwarf started to protest, but Gimli took another step forward. "Is that understandable?"

With a muttered agreement, the dwarf joined the small group of miners that had barely escaped the tunnels, while Gimli sighed and shook his head. "How are you holding up, Lad?"

Legolas managed a short laugh, sitting against the rough wall of the cavern with his eyes closed. "I am not the one trapped in the tunnel, Gimli."

"Aye, but I have heard that you are not so comfortable in closed-in spaces. Would you prefer to wait above while we break through the rubble?"

The elf's eyes snapped open. "I will not abandon my friend."

"My people are miners. You have never held a pickaxe in your life, what use could you be here?"

Legolas managed a faint smile at the dwarf's obvious concern. "Use has nothing to do with it, Gimli," he replied, closing his eyes as he leaned back against the rough rock wall.

Gimli snorted, shaking his head at the irrepressible oddness of elves.

He knocked his hammer against the rock, frowning at what he heard. It was not as deep as they had thought, but it would still take some time to break through.

"He is alive, Gimli," Legolas said quietly. "Aragorn is still alive."

"Of course he is...it would take more than rock to dent that stubborn head of his."

The dwarf called to his people, ordering for a steady line of miners to begin breaking through the rock. He hoped Aragorn was not seriously injured. No doubt the elf would already be taking on the guilt of this particular venture—even if there was nothing he could have done.

Gimli had known his friend was not anxious to visit the Glittering Caves, just as he had not wanted to visit Fangorn. Truth be told, he would have let Legolas out of his end of the bargain had the elf asked. Gimli might not have cared much for the forest, but it was nothing like the claustrophobia that could strike the elf in such tight spaces.

And thus Aragorn had accompanied them on this leg of their journey, and had insisted that Legolas stay with Gimli or another dwarf at all times. When the cavern had begun to collapse, the king had all but thrown Legolas clear rather than letting the elf be trapped behind the cave-in.

Aragorn, however, had not been able to get out himself. And thus Gimli was rallying dwarves to break through the rock and rescue the king.

He found ten able and willing dwarves, including himself. There was only room for two to chip away at the rock at a time, leaving the others to rest or to cart out rubble. One old dwarf had drawn up a set of plans, indicating where they could dig to get the most rock out at a time, and another was carefully marking lines in charcoal to further guide the miners.

Gimli was one of the first to begin digging, hoping to judge for himself the amount of work left to be done. Also, looking back at Legolas he had the feeling he did not have many hours to work toward freeing Aragorn. The elf was far too quiet. Something else had to be wrong.

The dwarves continued working through the night, forcing their own exhaustion away in light of the fleeting time. Aragorn would not be alive much longer if he suffocated in the closed-off tunnel.

"We have to stop," one dwarf announced suddenly, dropping his pickaxe with a huff.

Legolas shook his head, struggling to stand. "You cannot."

"We have to shore it up, Lad," Gimli explained kindly. "It must be deeper than we thought. We do not want another cave-in."

The elf sighed, staggering forward to press one hand against the rubble that separated them from the king. "He has been trapped for so long."

Gimli exchanged an anxious glance with another dwarf. Many hours had passed since the cave-in, and they had been touring the caverns for a while before the disaster. "You need some air, Master Elf," he finally said, tugging on the elf's arm. "Just a moment. We will be back before they begin digging again."

"He would not leave me," Legolas whispered.

"You are not leaving him," Gimli argued. "Just a moment, Lad. Just a moment."

With a sigh, Legolas pushed away from the wall and stumbled after Gimli. The dwarf glanced back, his eyes widening at the bloody handprint the elf had left on the wall.

"Sit down!" he barked, nearly shoving the elf over. Legolas complied with the barest whimper, trying to pull away as the dwarf pried his hands away from his body. "You were injured," he huffed, spotting the bloody gash on the elf's side.

"It was not important," Legolas replied, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes, breath a bit strained. "Something struck me."

Gimli grunted, gently probing the wound with a muttered apology when Legolas gasped. "You should have told us you were injured."

"Aragorn has much more need of your help."

He shook his head, frustrated, but before he could reply a shout went up from the dwarves at the cave-in.

"Through! We're almost through!" one shouted, grabbing Gimli by the arm and pulling him along.

"How can you tell?"

"The rock...there are only a few inches left."

Gimli studied the wall in trepidation, eyeing the short tunnel they had dug through the rubble. "Open it."

One dwarf leapt up, a short hammer and chisel in his hands. He cautiously tapped at the rock, finally breaking through to the chamber beyond. Gimli pulled him out of the way, peering through the hole into the heart of the mountain. "Can you hear me, Laddie?"

A muffled sound met his ears, and two fingers thrust out of the hole nearly hitting Gimli in the face.

"He's alive!"

A cheer went up from the dwarves at this announcement. Some ran up the tunnel to collect beams to shore up what they had dug out, while another opened the hole enough to pass through a waterskin.

The beams in place, another dwarf crammed himself into the hole to break it open enough for the king to slip out. Gimli stood to one side anxiously, sending one dwarf up the tunnel to find their best healer and a few dwarves to carry the man to the surface.

Dwarf though he was, tears pricked the back of his eyes when Aragorn's face appeared in the hole. It seemed hours had passed before the dwarves had broken through enough for the man's broad shoulders to slip through, and then he was sprawled on the floor at their feet covered in dust and blood but very much alive.

"You have to be the luckiest," Gimli muttered, patting Aragorn's face and gently helping the man sit up. "We feared the worst...we should learn not to do that."

Aragorn managed to chuckle, wrapping one arm around his chest as he began to cough. "Legolas?"

Gimli shook his head. "He is not well. I fear he was wounded."

"It was minor," a faint, strained voice called as Legolas slowly made his way over, nearly collapsing as he sat on the rough stone floor.

"You look terrible," Aragorn frowned in concern, coughing again and waving Gimli away when the dwarf tried to press a cloth to the bleeding cut on his forehead.

"You're no great beauty yourself," Gimli muttered. "I should have the two of you carried out of here and chained to beds for a week. And I thought there was no trouble you could get into here!"

"I think my father tried that before," Aragorn joked weakly, finally letting himself be pushed down to stretch out on the floor.

Gimli shook his head in frustration. "You were very lucky today, Aragorn."

"No, Gimli," the king grabbed the dwarf's arm. "Today was not because of luck, save that I am lucky to have two such friends as you and Legolas."

The dwarf felt a smile forming, but forced it into a dwarfish harrumph. "You have been spending too much time among the elves," he commented. "You have grown too sentimental."

A shocked silence met his comment. Then the cavern rang with cautious laughter.

"Do you truly believe so, Gimli?" Aragorn finally said when he was able to speak again. "You must know...you are the most sentimental of us all!"

"Fear not," Legolas interjected. "There are worse things than being known as a sentimental dwarf."

Gimli was saved from a reply when the healer appeared, and he stood to one side as the aged dwarf went about the task of checking Aragorn's injuries.

He grimaced when he saw the wounds the king's tunic had been hiding. Aragorn was lucky to be alive. Had he been a bit further up the tunnel when the cave-in had occurred, he would have been killed instantly.

Yes, there were worse things than being known as a sentimental dwarf.

* * *

_Happy Holidays!_


	11. Eleventh Hour Rescue

_Eleventh Hour Rescue_

* * *

He coughed and spluttered as cold water rushed into his lungs, and fought to remain afloat. The laughs and jeers of his tormentors met his ears, and he tried to reply with a curse of his own but could not draw breath into his lungs.

"What do you know?" one man jeered. "Elves do float."

Bound hand and foot, Legolas fought to keep his head above water. After a rather humiliating capture and a few hours wondering where Aragorn could be and if the human was even still alive, this particular band of ruffians had hit on a new variation of elf-torture.

They had heard that elves did not feel the cold, and somehow that had lead to the discussion that elves did not sink in water and that even were an elf bound hand and foot he would stay afloat.

Not that Legolas wanted to prove their misguided theories...he merely did not want to drown.

He went under and struggled to surface, coughing out a mouthful of river water. The cold of the water was sapping his strength, and elf though he was he was beginning to feel the chill.

Breaking into an odd rhythm, he managed to swim over to one of the boats with the intent to pull himself up into it. As soon as he grabbed the side, he was shoved away and under the water by the end of an oar, and resurfaced to hear harsh laughter.

"We know elves can float in a boat," one man jeered. "How long can they float without one?"

"Aye, and without the use of his hands!"

Legolas tossed his head, whipping out a strand of hair that had gotten caught around his eyes. He tried to make for shore, only to be intercepted by another boat. His teeth were chattering now, and he could barely force a sound between his lips.

He went under again, and barely managed to resurface. With wide eyes he saw that the boats were pulling away, lanterns darkened and doused as the men returned to the shore. He tried to swim for the riverbank, but the cold current carried him down the river, the water sapping his strength.

Fingers numb, he no longer had the strength to surface. It struck him as ironic that he should die by something so simple as drowning when he had faced so many other dangers over the years.

The water closed over his head one final time, turning all to darkness.

Then, rough fingers snagged in his hair and pulled him up enough for someone to grab his rope-bound wrists. He was pulled through the water and finally heaved onto shore, a dark-haired man leaning over him in concern.

The man frowned, cutting through the ropes that bound the elf's wrists and ankles. "Legolas?" he called, chafing the elf's wrists and pulling off his boots.

It seemed to take an eternity, but the elf moaned and began to cough. The man turned him on his side, murmuring and rubbing his back soothingly as the elf retched up river water until he lay gasping, shivering and spent, on the cold earth.

"Come with me," the man hooked his hands under the elf's arms, half-carrying him back into the brush toward a small campfire. "Are you all right? Did they hurt you?"

Legolas stared at the man in confusion. "A-ara-gorn?"

"Yes...you are half frozen, my friend. Even for an elf, that is dangerous."

He did not protest, too bewildered at his friend's appearance. As the ranger instructed he stripped out of his wet clothes, wrapping himself in a dry blanket and huddling close to the fire. "Y-you..."

"I escaped," Aragorn explained simply, changing into his own dry clothes. "They did not see me, but I was following you. I would have come sooner, but..."

Legolas shook his head. "You w-were on t-time."

Aragorn snorted. "Better than being too late," he replied, setting a small kettle on the fire to make tea.

The elf tried to reply, frustrated as he could not yet control his shivering enough to make himself understood. But how could he explain this to the ranger?

_You are never too late, Aragorn. I can hold out hope until the last moment because I know you would never leave me unless you were already dead. Do not berate yourself for things beyond your control._

_I only wish I could tell you..._

Aragorn frowned at his friend's silence. "Legolas?"

He tried to muster a smile. It was never enough...it could never be enough, but there was only one thing he could say.

"Th-thank you."

_

* * *

_

Happy Holidays!


	12. Twelve Treasured Friends

_All right, last one here! Makes a lot of references to stories I've thought out but never written. Posting in the morning because I'm out of town again until tomorrow night._

_Twelve Treasured Friends_

* * *

A banquet was being held in the great hall, but within a small private chamber only the king and his closest friends were gathered.

Twelve sat at the table, and as Aragorn surveyed those surrounding them he could not help but wonder. They were so precious to him...he knew many men who did not have one trustworthy friend, yet he had eleven.

His gaze swept the room, pausing on each face in consideration.

To his left sat Arwen. Arwen, his beautiful and beloved wife. She had given up her immortality, her chance to sail with her people into a land free of heartache for him. There were days when he was still amazed that she loved him.

And for all that she seemed delicate, she was strong. Though she would never admit it, she was a match for any swordsman of Gondor. Yet her strength was not only physical. She had been his support through the first few difficult months of the kingship. Many days he had been at the end of his patience, but for Arwen.

She was more than merely his wife, the queen of Gondor. She was his everything.

On Arwen's left sat her brothers, Elladan Elrohir. Aragorn had grown up calling Elladan and Elrohir his brothers, as he had been foster-son of their father. He had feared their displeasure when he fell in love with Arwen, but had been surprised to find their support instead.

There were times when the twins were still too over-protective. Even now that Aragorn was king and had for many years been old enough to take care of himself, his brothers still tried to protect him. That had been a comfort for many years.

Though that was not all they had done. They had traveled with the rangers for many years, and when the time came for Aragorn to lead the rangers Elladan and Elrohir had supported him and deferred to him even if they knew of a better way. Their example had led to a rapid acceptance among the older rangers, and it was that confidence that had made him the man he was today.

He smiled when he saw the figure beside the twins. Legolas had been his closest friend for many years, and still was to this day. Born the youngest prince of Mirkwood, Legolas had been willing to be scorned by his own people to befriend a clumsy young human.

Many years they had traveled together. He had often confided his fears in Legolas during those years, but one of the things he treasured was that Legolas had confided in him. The elf was centuries his elder, yet he had trusted a human enough to share his own fears and insecurities.

And, of course, they had had their share of adventures. Many of those adventures ended with one or the other of them wounded, but he would not have traded a single adventure for anything in this world. He had been thrilled when Legolas had been chosen to be among the Fellowship, and though he had his own regrets in their friendship they were still close.

Then there was Gimli. While Aragorn had not grown particularly close to the dwarf despite their experiences on the Quest, he still considered the short hairy being one of his closest friends.

Though perhaps that was because the dwarf had grown so close to Legolas. Truth be told, Aragorn was occasionally jealous of the camaraderie elf and dwarf shared. Because Legolas had been his friend for so many years, it could be difficult to see him so close to Gimli. But Aragorn had forced that jealousy away. Their lives had changed...he would not begrudge his oldest friend this friendship.

In fact, Aragorn was thankful to Gimli. Legolas had been stricken by the sea-longing, and while Aragorn knew the elf would stay as long as Aragorn was alive he was convinced Gimli's friendship played some part in keeping his friend from despair. He knew Legolas still would have stayed had he not befriended Gimli, but it was his closeness with the dwarf that kept the sea-longing at bay. And for that, Aragorn was very thankful indeed.

Samwise was beside Gimli. Dear, faithful Samwise. He had not been the same since Frodo sailed West with the other Ringbearers, though he now had a wife and children to care for. But Sam had taken his master's advice to heart, and had begun to live. He would always miss Frodo, but his grief would not tear him apart.

Pippin was next. Pippin had begun the Quest so young, but had returned home with a maturity few hobbits ever saw. Aragorn had nearly not recognized the serious-faced figure in the livery of the tower guard. Young Pippin had seen much...the fall of Isengard, the Eye, the madness of Denethor, and had helped save Faramir's life. He was still barely more than a child to his own people, but he was already held a hero in Gondor.

And Merry, of course. Merry was Pippin's closest friends, but his path had been different. Pippin often claimed that it had been Merry's impassioned plea that had stirred the Ents—though it had taken the destruction of the forest to make them move, Merry had awoken their hearts. He had awoken another heart as well, for Éowyn had carried him with her into battle. Merry and Éowyn were kindred spirits, both fierce in battle but peaceful in heart.

Éomer caught Aragorn's eye, smiling a little in his direction as he conversed with Merry. Éomer was king of Rohan, and Aragorn's greatest ally. Though Éomer was much younger, Aragorn had found a steadfast friend in the horse-lord. They had ridden out together to clear the land of the Dark Lord's remaining filth, and Éomer was a man he was proud to have by his side.

King of Rohan, Éomer had taken up his responsibilities easier than expected. Many had assumed that the rash young nephew of Théoden would prove a disastrous king, but the loss of his uncle and his sister's injury had tempered the young man.

Éowyn was beside her brother, a smile in her face and a light in her eyes that had not been there when Aragorn first met her. Their friendship had been awkward for a time, as Éowyn had once been in love with him. She had been trapped by her uncle's enchantment, forced to watch him decay and age beyond his time, and hounded at nearly every step by Gríma.

Faramir had once confessed to Aragorn that Éowyn still had nightmares of Gríma, fears of her uncle giving her to him in marriage. The hobbits' news that Gríma had perished eased her mind somewhat, but resolution had been difficult for her. In the midst of her desperation she had seen Aragorn, and taken her admiration and turned it into something more. She had seen him as her only hope to escape her prison, a man strong-minded enough that she would not always be thinking for him, gentle enough that she need not fear for her safety, and powerful enough to take her and set her above the troubles that overwhelmed her.

But she, too, had changed. Her heart had softened, and she had married Faramir. All traces of her infatuation with Aragorn had all but disappeared, leaving behind the basis for a strong friendship.

Beside Éowyn, on Aragorn's right, was Faramir. His confidence had grown in recent months, and he no longer expected harsh criticism whenever he faced Aragorn. He was at peace with the deaths of his brother and father, and had confessed to Aragorn that he no longer wished to join them before his time. There had been days, during Éowyn's return to Rohan before their marriage, that he had contemplated ending his own life. His father's shadow had remained over him for some time, but Aragorn was slowly pushing that away.

There were many that claimed Faramir had done nothing to win the war. While Faramir had not ridden out to the Black Gate for the final battle, it was his presence that had made Aragorn's coronation seamless.

Because Faramir so openly accepted the king, the people followed his leave. Boromir had once explained that their father feared Faramir, for the people of Gondor followed Denethor out of allegiance but followed Faramir out of love. Had he so desired, he could have turned against his father and had all of Minas Tirith behind him in a moment. But he was a man of peace, now content that there were no more battles to be fought. Save Arwen, Faramir had been the most help to Aragorn during his first months of kingship. With Faramir by his side, Aragorn had quickly adapted to the life of the Gondorians, and there were few who still saw him as the wild ranger on the throne.

Finally, his thoughts turned inward. So many years had passed...so many memories of victories and defeats. It was hard to believe that the king of Gondor had once been that child who only wanted to be an elf. Or the rash young man whose mistake had nearly cost his best friend his life, or whose foolish pride had led them into any number of unnecessary battles.

He had served as a ranger, protecting the Shire and its little inhabitants from the dangers beyond their borders. He had served in Gondor and Rohan, learning about the lands of his kingship and the dark strategies of the Enemy. He had hunted Gollum into the wild, and guided four hobbits to the safety of Rivendell. So much had happened to bring Estel to Aragorn.

There were twelve of them. Twelve friends that had not sought this glory, but had saved their world.

Raising his glass, Aragorn stood to his feet and caught his friends' attention. "To friendship," he intoned, but the words did not seem enough. "To friendship...to the love that binds us together though our differences drive us apart. To those mighty in humility, and the peace that brings and end to war. To friendship that has made us a force strong enough to defeat the Enemy and bring peace to our lands. Friendship that has saved lives, ended dangers, and endured every difficulty.

"To you, my friends."

* * *

_Happy Holidays!_

_Merry Christmas to all, wherever your roads may take you!_


End file.
